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Scenes From A Closet	By : luna65 Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Pink Floyd Views: 920 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Pink Floyd. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Scenes From A Closet
- 1
“Oh Rog, come look!”
“What is it, sweetheart?”
The estate agent had led them upstairs to the master suite and left them there, begging their pardon as she needed to visit the house further down the road to place a call. The view from the balcony was lovely, and the furnishings already in place looked very comfortable, yet elegant. Carolyne would settle for nothing less.
“A dressing room! I’ve always wanted a dressing room!”
“Hmm, it’s rather a large closet, isn’t it?”
“Can we take this one?”
“She said she had two more to show us.”
“This is exactly what I want.”
“It’s only one room, darling, don’t you think you should look at the rest of it?”
She made a face at his smirking grin. “I saw the downstairs same as you, and it’s lovely.”
“It’s your decision, love, so if this is what you want –“
“It’s not too far from the studio?”
“Oh no, s’fine. Say, what’s that thing?” Roger asked, pointing to a circular piece of furniture in the center of the room. It stood upon six legs and was covered in red silk with an Oriental print of golden chrysanthemums and emerald dragons.
“It’s a tuffet, you mean you’ve never seen one?”
“A tuffet? As in Little Miss Muffet?”
“Exactly. It’s also called a hassock, or a settee.”
“My mother has a settee, and it looks nothing like this.”
“It’s rather a sophisticated settee, the idea being that a lady shouldn’t have to stand to dress.”
“Ah, I see.” Roger sat down upon it. “Oh, it’s rather cushy.”
Carolyne sat down beside him. “Mmm, very nice.”
They turned to kiss when the perky face of the estate agent interrupted their faire l’amour.
“This is a lovely feature, eh?” she asked in that charmingly rhetorical way the French had of speaking.
“We love it,” Carolyne informed her, “and we’ll take it.”

Whenever David was summoned to L’Ousteroun it made him feel positively plebian.

It wasn’t merely the fact that Roger’s villa was larger than his, but it was so very posh. Sumptuous in every detail, right down to the garden full of fruit trees and topiary, with manicured lawn and gazebo covered with vines of rose and jasmine. It was like some kind of ridiculous multi-color spread in Homes and Gardens, which Ginger had taken to reading for ideas for the farmhouse. But this – this was the bloody limit.

“Caro said she had to have the house after she saw this,” Roger told him, opening a very ornate door in a hallway which led off the master suite upstairs.

“You know I’m in dutch with Ginger because she found out that you –“

It was a closet, but the grandest notion of a closet ever possibly conceived, more like a small room which was devoted to the task of storing clothes and accessories and all the accoutrements of femininity. David stared open-mouthed at rows upon rows of garments, perfectly-hung upon padded hangers - arranged by color and style - racks of shoes, seemingly at least two dozen scarves, neatly-folded jumpers, more clothes than he’d ever seen outside of a store in his life. Ginger had more than her fair share of clothes from her modeling days, but they were all crammed into one armoire, not housed in a bloody room.

“S’a good thing she has her own money, Rog,” he cracked as he looked around. “She would have drained you for sure otherwise.”

“It’s the mirrors that fascinate me. She had them hung later.”

There was at least one mirror on every wall, one over the armoire which stood open, displaying shiny baubles and silky undergarments, one over the vanity covered in bottles and jars, and one on the back of the door. David saw himself reflected to infinity and made a face: crossing his eyes, sticking out his tongue.

“Oh that’s lovely,” Roger quipped.

“Surely one doesn’t need this many mirrors.”

“Oh you never know, it may be rather useful to see yourself from every possible angle.”

David gazed at Roger’s reflection and recognized the glazed look of avarice. Roger gazed at David’s reflection and recognized the smirk of curiosity. Then they both turned their glances away from the glass as they heard the Lady of the Manor calling from downstairs.

It was obvious that Carolyne, for all her grace and breeding, had no idea how to throw a child’s birthday party. As soon as Ginger and David arrived, the missus Gilmour took charge, explaining to the other mothers about party games and ways to keep the children occupied. David wandered out into the garden and was amused to find James sitting in the center of a circle of progeny, showing them all how to fold paper airplanes.

“Can you make me a submarine?” he called out to his Whiz Kid.

James stuck out his tongue and continued folding. David heard a voice behind him.

“Here you are, s’bout bloody time.”

David did not turn around, preferring the sight of James to Roger.

“When there’s two females to wait on one is never on time.”

“Come upstairs with me, I’ve something for you.”

“What?”

“Something I know you want.”

“I can’t,” David murmured, smiling as he watched Alice attempt to fold her own airplane with wee chubby hands.

“Why not?”

“I can’t,” he said again, and made the slightest of nods.

“Oh bloody hell,” Roger whispered. “You’re not pulling that one in my house.”

“Wasn’t even considering it.”

“Liar!” Roger hissed. The silence which followed told David he had gone back inside.

Phil walked up with a handful of balloons, his face red from exertion. “Help me out, boss, willya?”

They blew up balloons till they both lost their wind and batted them over to the kids who got up and started chasing them around, giggling. Alice came over and clung to David’s leg.

“Daddy spin!” she commanded.

David picked her up and spun her around several times in rapid succession, as she shrieked in a combination of terror and delight. When he set her down again she wobbled briefly then fell on her rear.

“Oh Alice, have you been in the sauce?” he teased, helping her up again.

James threw a paper airplane in their direction. David picked it up and handed it to her.

“Look darling, look what James made for you! Here, try to make it fly.”

He showed her how to toss it and she did, giggling as it caught a draft and soared upwards.

“Oh ho, look at that! Don’t let it get away!”

She ran across the garden towards the other children. James got up from the ground, dusting himself off, and joined the men.

“So where’s Rog hiding the drink?” David asked them.

“Dunno,” Phil answered, and he looked rather depressed. “There’s plenty of fruit punch, though.”

“Christ,” David groused, “how is one supposed to get through an afternoon of sprogs on the loose without at least a couple pints?”

“Doesn’t bother me,” James said with a smile, watching as the kids chased each other around.

“Not yet, you mean. Just wait till they get shrieky,” Phil retorted.

“Or they all start crying at once. It’ll happen.” David looked around just in time to see Roger return. “There’s the lord! You’re a terrible host, Rog, where’s the grog?”

Nick followed on his heels and answered the inquiry. “We might have to go back and raid the studio. Everything’s closed on Sunday, y’know.”

“Bloody Catholics,” Phil muttered.

“You’ve absolutely no drink in the house?!” David exclaimed, shocked.

“I’m not letting you lot drink my Scotch!”

“You sodding cunt –“

“Easy lad,” Nick said, “we’ll sort it out.”

“I can go back and ask Tante Marie for some plonk,” James suggested, “but there’s never any beer, Phil and I go into town for that.”

“I’ve half a bottle of absinthe in my room, but I wouldn’t recommend drinking that now,” Phil quipped.

“I’ve got plenty of wine at the house but why the fuck should I share with you then?!” David proclaimed, glaring at Roger. Everyone else took two steps back, experience making them afraid to intervene.

“You can swill the vineyard dry for all I care,” Roger said, “I wouldn’t touch it for fear that you’d pissed in it, any road.”

Nick began snickering and Phil followed suit. James made a wry grimace and looked away. As David predicted, a chorus of crying arose and the men turned around, puzzled. Chloe came running up to her father.

“What’s wrong, love?” Nick asked her. “Is someone hurt?”

“Mrs. Waters said there’s no cake!”

David turned to Roger again, looking thoroughly disgusted. “Georgie are you mental? You cannot have a birthday party without cake!”

“I thought Caro had seen to all that,” Roger answered, but looked shocked himself.

Carolyne walked out towards the group, with an expression of dismay. “Rog, didn’t you say you’d get the cake?”

Everyone now glared at him, and as usual when Roger faced the wrath of his underlings he looked entirely disdainful.

“Why would I get the cake, dear?”

“I could have sworn,” she began, then was distracted by the sounds of new arrivals in the foyer. “Oh goodness, more people. Well please, someone fetch a cake!”

Roger stepped forward and put his hand on James’ shoulder. “It’s up to you, Whiz Kid, drive like the bloody wind to Nice and find a cake.”

“Betcha can’t beat my time, James,” Nick taunted. “Twenty-three minutes.”

“Well Mr. Mason, we’ll just see, won’t we? C’mon Philthy, I’ll need you to mind the stopwatch.”

David put an arm around his tech. “Don’t forget the booze, lad, or it’s curtains for you.”

Phil rolled his eyes. “It’s likely curtains any road, the way this one drives.”

David snickered. “Oh James is rather skilled at so many things.”

They all made sounds of gagging and David smirked to see his boy blush. He could never resist an opportunity to make him squirm. The two departed just as Steve and Bob appeared, with a loud flourish. Thankfully Bob had brought champagne.

“Oi I’ll have some champers, what say you boys?” Nick proclaimed.

“Not just yet,” Roger replied. “Keep an eye on the proceedings, Nicky, there’s a good lad. C’mon Dave, I need you to listen to something.”

“Georgie I’m not –“

“Don’t quarrel with me, prat. Now.”

Up the stairs, down the hall, behind the heavy polished door, Roger turned the bolt and smiled in a very predatory sort of way at his guest.

“Christ, Georgie, let’s get this over with,” David sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Oh lover, you break my heart when you take that tone with me,” Roger purred, coming up to David and running his hands through the other’s hair. “Here, I’ve got something better than drink for you.” He crossed the room to the armoire and opened the doors, then pulled open one of the smaller drawers at the top, extracting a glass vial.

“Hmm, so you have.”

Roger tossed it to him and David caught it with panicked reflexiveness. “Easy, lad!”

“You’ve got good hands.”

“But not fast ones,” David retorted, then unscrewed the cap and tapped a line on the back of his hand. After he repeated the action, yawning each time after he inhaled, he handed the vial back to his bandmate who snorted far more delicately, pinching his nose.

“Whaddya think?”

“What do you mean?” David asked, his eyes closed. He waited for the rush and it hit him momentarily, his skull feeling like it was vibrating rapidly. His blood surged and he felt himself stiffen, though he still wasn’t in the mood to deal with this intrigue. He wondered how long it would be until someone came looking for them.

“This is much better than what Bob has.”

“Why, because you paid more for it?”

Roger rolled his eyes. “No, because I found out where Rick was getting his.”

David shrugged. “Feels ‘bout the same to me.”

“Just wait.” Roger sat down on the tuffet, sprawling suggestively. “Doesn’t this look like the most delightful seat? One could do all sorts of things.”

“Like what?”

“Oh Dave, surely I don’t have to school you, hmm?” Roger stood up and began pulling his clothes off. He was fully erect, David noticed with some small astonishment, and the sight of that lanky form - near-translucent skin in some places with a delicate map of veins - made his own pulse quicken and sent blood to all the right places, no doubt aided by the cocaine.

“Gonna pose like a slut for me? And what else, dress up?” David flicked his fingers at a rack of blouses, likely all silk. They felt that way, so soft. His nostrils were suddenly filled with perfume, just as he’d began to wonder if his sense of smell was being permanently blunted by his increasing use of the drug.

“Would you like to see me in something like that?”

David laughed, but began removing his own garments. “You’d stretch it all out, wouldn’t you? Then you’d have to burn it.”

“Answer the question.”

David pursed his lips, considering. He looked at all the Rogers in the room and thought about what he would like to see his bete noir do to him, as a voyeur to his own reluctant seduction. Though it didn’t feel nearly as reluctant as it had moments ago.

“Panties,” he said. “I dare you.”

Roger got up without a word and opened a drawer in the armoire, pulling out a handful of colored silk and satin, some trimmed with frothy lace. “Which one do you fancy, lover?”

There was something very very wrong about this. . .but of course that was the defining characteristic of their entire relationship.

They had to be white. . .and lacy. . .and the ones which Roger pulled on barely covered his crotch, but David was suddenly overcome with the urge to suck his cock and pushed him back down on the seat, pulling the fabric away and tonguing him, watching out of the corner of his eye as Roger threw his head back with lustful release.

“Ah, take your time, babe, let me watch you.” He didn’t take his eyes off the mirror as David licked the shaft, fluttering his tongue from bottom to top and back down, running it around the edge of the glans, across the slit where he was already wet, and rubbed his lips against it with sloppy kisses. “You are positively pornographic.”

“And you are a rutting whore,” David chided, but did not stop sucking.

“S’the blow, man, I swear it goes straight to my cock.”

David looked down at his own. “Mmm, I see what you mean. So what is there to grease me with, lad?”

Roger nodded towards the vanity next to the door. “There should be some Vaseline there, she uses it on her eyebrows.”

“Thank God for makeup, eh? Ever so useful.”

Roger turned around, putting his ass up in the air. “Make yourself useful and fuck me, you slut.”

“You are wired, strumpet, just hold on.”

It was David’s turn to watch and he couldn’t stop looking at Roger’s face as he positioned himself behind, thinking the other looked so hungry and eager for it. All other considerations flew from his mind as he pulled the fabric down from Roger’s ass and rammed his lover. . .it was so good he nearly creamed immediately as muscle sheathed muscle, melding tight and hot. He felt the silk of the panties rub against his balls as he thrust hard and deep and watched Roger go taunt and contort with lust and just a little spite. Likely at himself that he still wanted it so bad. David tore the undergarment away completely and used it on Roger, bringing him off even as he pumped steadily, vaguely wondering if they were going to break this strange piece of furniture with their combined weight. But it held as they both spasmed, with raw whispers and grunts. David was flying, feeling as though everything was speeding towards the same terminus, pinpricks of light on the edge of his vision. His heart was revving on the edge of collapse.

“Ah Christ,” he exclaimed, standing up with a stumble. “What was that cut with?”

“Dunno. But it makes you feel fast, doesn’t it?”

“Too much!”

“You’ll calm down in a moment. And it’s only your first time. Next time you’ll know what to expect.”

David shook his head and put his clothes back on, wishing he could towel himself first. He saw the stained torn cloth lying on the tuffet, white on red, and chuckled.

“You will have to burn it now, hmm?”

Roger continued to recline, naked, leering at his lover. “Y’mean you don’t want to keep it? Something to remember me by?”

David picked it up and put it in his pocket. “If it will make you stop going on ‘bout it.”

Roger smirked. “Just remember all the things I have to offer.”

David left him to all of Carolyne’s finery, furiously cleaning himself once in the bathroom, trying to scrub away the scent when he realized that it was coming from his pocket, but he didn’t want to rid himself of the source.

Their employees were unsuccessful in the quest for a cake, but Phil and James did return with two dozen Napoleons which succeeded in soothing the hurt feelings of everyone involved. After dinner was served and devoured and everyone was chatting over the wine they’d also managed to dig up, James handed David a drawing.

“It’s the best I can do,” he said, with a smile.

It was a submarine. . .a very meticulous rendering.

“It’s perfect, like everything you do,” David replied, knowing he did not deserve such a gesture.

His lover stood by one of the mirrors, admiring his own long-limbed form, his generous endowment and chiseled face, lush mouth pouting, saucer eyes wide with mischief.
“What would you like me to wear?” he asked.
David looked over all the things in the closet, opening the drawers of the armoire which were filled with the most exquisite lingerie. He picked up a garter belt: black satin ribbon and lace, twirled it about on his finger then handed it to his beautiful slut.
“This, and the hose.”
Roger opened another drawer and took out a pair of fishnet stockings. He walked over to the tuffet and laid down upon it, raising each leg in the air as he carefully smoothed the flimsy mesh over his skin, running his hands all the way down to his thighs, David could feel his erection taking hold, jutting out from his abdomen and he wasn’t surprised to find that he was naked as well. In the mirrors he appeared rather a boastful satyr.
Once the stockings were in place Roger wiggled into the garter belt and hooked the straps. He stood before David with his hands on his hips and pouted again.
“Anything else?”
“No,” David whispered, then he sat down upon the cushion. “Come here.”
A few steps forward, but not quite close enough.
“Come here, slut.”
“And do what?”
“Let’s go for a ride, pretty thing.”
A toss of that lovely dark hair, and his lover kneeled upon the settee as David assumed the same pose behind and brought Roger down upon his cock, fitting him like hand to glove. He leaned back, supporting himself on his hands and watched in the mirror as Roger slid up and down with a slow piston-like motion, fascinated by the way they came together. David ran a hand along Roger’s leg and smiled.
“You’re so beautiful when you ride my cock.”
“D’ya like to see it, lover? Like to watch us fuck?”
“Ever so much,” he breathed, feeling himself harden to the point of no return. “Gonna cream you, oh!”
And when he did Roger slid off and bent just so as the splashes fell upon his ass and David watched himself spurt and thought so that’s what it looks like and Roger was such the coquette, moaning to feel it, rubbing it on his skin when David had finally finished.
“I’m a dirty slut,” he said, rubbing his hands over his chest and turning to face David. “I’ll stink of you now, everyone will know.”
“Everyone should know that you’re my whore.” David said, pulling his lover to him for a kiss.

David sat up in bed with a start, gasping and sweating. Next to him Ginger was snoring softly, turned away on her side. He sat there for a moment, listening to his heart hammer and cursing the painful erection which rubbed against the sheets. After taking a piss he tried to go back to sleep but it was no use. He got up and went into the parlour, taking his pants with him. He sat on the sofa, reaching into the pocket and pulling out a mass of white silk which seemingly glowed in the dark. He held it to his nose for a moment then began to rub the fabric against his prick, first slowly as his breathing sputtered, then more rapidly. He tried to think of his boy, tried to put him into the fantasy that was actually a residue of the dream, but the original inspiration would not be denied. As he finally jettisoned onto the fabric and himself, it was Roger who was riding David’s fevered libido right into obsession.

Over lunch one day Bob invited them all for the weekend to the villa he’d had to rent after being kicked out of the Negresco for too many wild parties, and Roger accepted, noting that Carolyne and Harry would be going back to England for a fortnight. David looked up suddenly, with a raise of his eyebrows. Roger smirked and calmly took a bite of his meal. David looked at James who was looking at his plate, his expression neutral though David knew he was likely less than thrilled at the thought of having to socialize with Ezrin.

“Sunday, Dave,” Roger whispered to him once they were back in the control room. “Don’t forget to bring your own swill.”

“What about Nick?”

“I’ll send him on ahead, tell him I’d riding with you.”

David was alone again, despite Ginger’s anger at finding out that Carolyne had ignored the edict against families he was stubborn in his insistence that she could not live with him while they were working on the record. But he was not truly alone, of course. And he felt conflicted at having to resort to a type of manipulative scheming and yet, this desire would not be denied, he’d been having variations on the same dream every night.

“Noon,” David whispered in reply, and the pact was sealed.

David made an expression of surprise to see Roger answer the door himself, as well as his choice of attire.

“Are you mad, going ‘round like that?”

“It’s Sunday, all the good people are in church.”

“Which leaves us, hmm?”

“Exactly. Now come inside before I catch my death.”

The garment in question was the sheerest of robes, resembling a kimono, hanging from Roger’s thin frame like a scarf draped over a table. It had no way to be closed, and the glory of his naked form resided beneath. They didn’t bother with any formalities, going straight upstairs and pulling the cork on the wine as Roger sat on the bed and watched David disrobe.

“Shall I take this off? I rather like it. Very soft.” He took a drink and passed the bottle to David.

“Leave it. But I’m not fucking you in that bed.”

“S’never bothered you before, that sort of thing.”

“No, it has to be in there, with the mirrors.”

“Ah. You do like her folly.”

“It’s a folly alright,” David cracked as he took another drink. “But I wouldn’t say it’s Carolyne’s.”

“It’s good,” Roger said, coming to stand before him and granting him a kiss, as they tasted the wine again across their own tongues. “It’s always good like this.”

David pulled him down the hall and into the room, locking the door.

“There’s no reason to bar the door now.”

“I feel safer this way.”

They stood and looked in the mirror as they rubbed their cocks together, as if they had never seen such a thing before. Then Roger stood behind David and ran his hands over the other, both of them watching as if it were happening to neither of them. Roger jerked him off and David couldn’t look away as he watched himself have an orgasm. Roger gave them each a little chemical assistance then he was lying on the tuffet watching David fuck him, he could see every angle and he was enthralled to watch every nuance of their physicality replicated in leaden glass.

We fit, we look as though we fit, we’re a pair. He’s got to believe that too.

The entire afternoon and evening came and went as they watched themselves in the pursuit of pleasure and David asked Roger to sacrifice another pair of his wife’s underwear to the cause of his lust. Roger considered it a small price to pay to have his lover thoroughly obsessed with him again, as it should be, even as he knew it couldn’t last. . .it never had, after all.

“Rog, has someone been in here?” Carolyne called.

“You’ll have to be more specific darling,” her husband quipped.

“It’s just that some of my things aren’t where I left them. And - oh my God!”

Roger quickly got out of bed, his mind cataloging various strategies of subterfuge. “What is it?”

“Well look, there’s a stain on my tuffet!”

It was a rather prominent one, the silk darkened by something.

“Oh goodness. Well I’m sure Annette can clean it.”

“No, you can’t ever get stains out of silk. Bother!”

“We’ll have it upholstered again, love, it will be all right.”

“I think you should have a lock put on the door, one that locks from the outside as well.”

“Of course, dear. I’ll see to it tomorrow.”

Carolyne stood looking at the tuffet, hands on her hips. “It’s just ruined!”

“We’ll fix it, dear.”

“P’haps it should be put up in the attic till they can take it to the shop.”

“Why, love? You can still use it, can’t you?”

And if you can’t. . .I can.
- 1
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Scenes From A Closet